


I Can't Win Your Losing Fight

by SeventhStrife



Series: AUideas Advent Calendar: 2016 [7]
Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Blood and Injury, Child Abuse, M/M, Nibelheim, Time Loop, Wutai War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 19:49:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8858485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeventhStrife/pseuds/SeventhStrife
Summary: “1,001 Ways to Watch Your Friend Fall” AU  
  
  Character A is cursed with watching their friend, Character B, die again and again and again. Because of some cosmic law, Character B is not allowed to die, but they keep becoming involved in tragic accidents – Character B is caught in a random drive-by shooting, a car swerves to avoid hitting a child but strikes Character B instead, an earthquake causes a bookshelf to fall on Character B, etc. – which Character A is powerless to prevent. In order to fix this, the universe keeps forcing Character A to re-live each day so that they can try to save Character B’s life once again.


Stuck in a vicious cycle, Cloud is forced to rethink his approach.





	

Cloud was ten years old when he was attacked by a pack of Nibel wolves.

Everyone in his village was raised on the dangers of traveling up the mountain alone, of keeping a weather eye on the horizon and counting your paces. But Cloud was alone but for his mother. No one wants to help the bastard son of an unmarried woman who doesn’t even have the decency to seek a new husband. The children are casually cruel and the adults turn a blind eye or scold him harshly at every opportunity, disdain in their gaze.

Cloud had had enough and wanted a break, from the village that refused to accept him and a mother who refused to even tell him his father’s name. He’d taken the trail up Mount Nibel, breath coming out in visible puffs through his scarf, and felt the tension drain from him. The biting cold and winds kept the idle dream of simply living up here unattainable, but for now, it was enough.

Until he’d heard the first growl.

They’d appeared in the snow like mist, dark brown and gray fur harsh blotches of color in the white. Heart in his throat, Cloud had fended them off the best he could; clutching an overlarge stick and mustering all the courage he had within himself.

He didn’t want to die, not now, not like this, not when the villagers would only scoff and shrug and his whole life’s sum would be what  _ they’d  _ made of him.

Because Cloud ran more than he fought back, he lived. Because he was ten, alone, and armed with a stick, he was injured.

Claws tore through his thick coat and undershirts like paper. Blood ran hot against his skin, on his side and arm, his leg. It made everything sticky and uncomfortable, and it  _ hurt.  _ His eyes stung.

A cave materialized from the storm and Cloud sought refuge there, only able to slow down his pursuers by scrambling over fallen trees and wading through freezing, shallow pools.

The cave thankfully didn’t house any other wild animals, although there were tracks there that showed there had been some recently. Cloud ran, harsh breaths echoing around him to match the snarls of the beasts just behind him.

The snapping of teeth dogged chased the air at his ankles and his legs hurt  _ so much,  _ he couldn’t run  _ forever… _

Suddenly, Cloud realized the cave was getting  _ smaller.  _ The cave was thinning into a tunnel. He could faintly make out a green light, but any hesitation he may have felt was completely overruled by his fear of being eaten alive.

Hope gave Cloud a burst of strength and he sprinted faster, hunching as the walls came in and eventually dropping to all fours, pushing himself forward with his mouth a bloodless line from the adrenaline, fear, and pain.

He didn’t dare look back, but felt his heart nearly give out in relief when he heard the growls and snarls distancing themselves.

Still, Cloud crawled, until the tunnel opened up and he could stand, the angry, hungry howling a faint promise in the background.

Weak, leaving a faint trail of blood drops, Cloud came to a stop in the open space, lost and scared.

Even the village children were raised to survive, what to do if they were faced with the harsh cruelty of the elements, and he knew he was facing the most dire situation anyone could face on the mountain. He had no food, no water, his clothes were soaking wet, and night would soon come. The temperature would drop, he had no means of escape of a way to make fire, and if he tried to flee, he would no doubt be sniffed out and killed.

Cloud really was going to die here.

Angry, bitter tears stung his eyes and he scrubbed at them harshly, scowling. It wasn’t  _ fair. _

Cloud spent a few minutes pitying himself, wiping away the evidence of his tears. When his vision was finally clear, the faint light he’d seen before made itself more readily apparent, further down another tunnel.

Wary but faced with few other options, Cloud followed the light, slow-going with his limp. Luckily, he didn’t have to go far.

A glowing green pool opened before him. It was so bright it glittered and the surface was utterly still, like a great, shining jewel.

Cloud’s eyes widened and he came closer, feeling a warm, strange draw.

“Mako,” he murmured. He didn’t know why he said the strange word. It simply made sense.

Cloud, cautious of his injuries, slowly lowered himself to the ground, contemplating the strange... _ mako.  _ There was something about it...something so familiar. Without being fully conscious of it, Cloud reached out and gently skimmed his fingers on the surface of the pool.

Jets of green light instantly shot from the pool like ribbons and Cloud gasped. He fell back, managed to catch himself with a suddenly flung arm as he craned his neck up where the ribbons collided with the ceiling and came back down, headed  _ straight  _ for him.

Cloud made to move, but it was already too late, suddenly his forehead was hot,  _ searing,  _ he couldn’t see around him anymore but he could suddenly  _ see,  _ he  _ knew. _

Overwhelmed, Cloud curled into a ball, desperately trying not to be sick.

Visions of the past danced through his mind, countless past lives and countless battles, each more draining and hopeless than the last. And in each one of them? A convenient pool of mako to retrieve his memories, and even greener, viciously inhuman eye, flashing as bright as the flames that danced across his sword.

Hours, or days later, Cloud slowly uncurled, gaze unfocused, expression tight with anger. He looked down at himself, pulled at his jacket and shirts, the leg of his pants, but beneath all the tears and blood smears the skin was clear, unblemished. Cloud squeezed his hand into a fist, could feel the difference between his once-normal, child-like body and the flow of mako in his veins.

Cloud thought of taunting words and a single black wing adorned with obsidian feathers, dissolving into mist. He slammed his fist to the ground, frustrated with all that effort,  _ again,  _ being worthless. He rose up every time and fought. Every single time  _ he  _ judged humanity unworthy, every time  _ he  _ sought to murder for his cause, Cloud met him in battle.

And  _ every. Single. Time.  _ Cloud was here. Young again, repeating history.

_ “Damn.” _

Something had to change.

* * *

 

Sephiroth felt regret that his job was to subjugate an entire people of such breathtaking, beautiful culture. 

But they defied Shin-Ra, and that wouldn’t do. They needed to be shown Shin-Ra’s strength,  _ Sephiroth’s  _ strength.

Rain in Wutai was more like a monsoon, seeing as how it was an island nation just off the coast. Angry torrents of rain whipped Sephiroth’s hair back and forth and even with SOLDIER sight, visibility was poor. Still, the masamune sliced through those that would dare oppose him easily. The army was spread then and while he would appreciate more soldier to flesh out the army he was supposed to lead, for the time being he had to content himself with filling in for nearly a fourth of the man power he would need. 

Sephiroth managed to dodge a blade slung his was and brought his sword up to block a wild swing of a halberd. More Wutai warriors had arrived, eager for the glory of defeating Shin-Ra’s golden beacon of power.

No one matched Sephiroth in skill, but sheer numbers were bothersome, a tactic the enemy had apparently learned. Scores of Wutai ninjas dropped from the trees surrounding him like black raindrops. Sephiroth narrowed his eyes, bringing his blade into a ready stance.

So be it.

Normally, such an uneven stack would prove meaningless against Sephiroth. But unknown terrain and the elements conspired to give Sephiroth a challenge. Their strategy seemed to be to strike close and quickly retreat. Several more flitted from tree to tree, flinging spears and other projectiles in an effort to break Sephiroth’s concentration.

Sephiroth felt a hot flash of anger. This was his first opportunity to prove his worth to Shin-Ra; he would not be denied now.

Frustrated, sick of the rain, and impatient, Sephiroth swung more widely, aiming to clear the immediate ground around him. Unfortunately, it left him vulnerable with such an extended reach, and he immediately felt a sharp, burning pain erupt on his side.

Dropping his arm, Sephiroth hunched slightly, backing up. He pulled the dagger from his side, grimacing at the hot pour of blood. Marked. He’d been  _ marked.  _ Embarrassment and shame threatened to confuse him.

_ “The demon is bleeds!” _

The cry of triumph rallied the warriors and they only seemed to multiply. They closed in, beasts of prey scenting blood, and Sephiroth felt something very akin to  _ fear. _

A sudden cry and the sound of several bodies falling to the ground halted their retreat. From the back of the group, Wutai ninjas were being sent flying almost comically, a strong, relentless force plowing through them.

Sephiroth’s eyes widened, but a moment later he was resolved and seized the distraction.

He fell upon them ruthlessly and quickly, dispatching his enemies with well-timed sweeps of his sword.

Vaguely, he was aware of getting steadily closer to his unexpected aid. But he didn’t allow himself to indulge his curiosity until he was sure they were alone.

The battle didn’t last much longer. Sephiroth was properly motivated and properly angry. From the frustrated cries he could hear a short distance away, his help was faring decently as well.

When the last warrior fell, dead or unconscious, Sephiroth didn’t care, Sephiroth fell to one knee, hating the weakness but needing to yield to the pain nonetheless. He pressed a gloved hand to his wound.

“Why don’t you heal?”

Sephiroth looked up sharply; he hadn’t heard the approach. 

Spiky blond hair, somehow still present despite the rain. Black clothes, a broadsword large enough to rival Angeal’s, and eyes as blue as the ocean of Costa del Sol.

Sephiroth glared, but the stranger merely stared back, expression borderline bored. Sephiroth, despite himself, was intrigued despite himself. No one,  _ ever,  _ had looked at him like that. It was as insulting as it was fascinating.

Finally, when it seemed the other would crack under the silence, Sephiroth spoke.

“My materia is back in my tent.”

A blond brow arched. “Why didn’t you bring it?” His tone was mild enough to be emotionless but Sephiroth still felt the censure and grit his teeth.

“I  _ usually  _ don’t need it.”

“Ah.” They stared at one another, deep in enemy territory with rain pelting them. The other man moved, fished out a green materia from his pocket.

He glanced at it and very quickly, it glowed, the gloved arm holding it stretched out, and warm, seeping power flowed through Sephiroth. He could feel his wound healing and he let out quiet, surprised gasp.

It was over so quickly. Sephiroth looked to his wound, prodded it, but was met only with smooth skin. He’d never met  _ anyone  _ who could cast so quickly, so effortlessly. And  _ healing  _ magic no less.

“Who are you?” Sephiroth asked, mako-green eyes narrowed.

The blond man’s lips twitched into a sardonic smile. He held out his hand. “A friend.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm SO BAD at following the prompt. But I wanted to keep them in character. Eventually, I'll get around to proof-reading and editing these fics. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Title is from [Decode](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RvnkAtWcKYg).


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